This Is Between Us
by sometimesmilla
Summary: Caroline finds a letter that Katherine wrote in her death-bed, and personally delivers it.
1. 0-1

_Dear readers, _

_I did a little rewrite of this story, mainly because I wanted to fallow cannon-loosely...whilst I add my own plots and twist to it. So do pay close attention to the notes at the start of chapter as I'l try to keep you informed as to where said chapter fits in time line on the show._

_I do hope you'll enjoy. And please review. I live for them, And if you got suggestions don't hesitate to dish em. I'm very happy to accommodate._

_With Love Me_


	2. 0-2

**Note:** _ I deliberately dropped you right in it, becaue it's fun. I hope I've given Caroline Justice. Also correct me if I'm wrong but Caroline has never met Elijah, right? **Timeline:** picture these events unfolding on the day that could be between the episode 11 and 12 on Vampire Diaries. And on episode 13 on the Originals._

* * *

><p>"I don't believe it." His voice low, crusty, and dead sexy. It instantly puts me on the spot.<p>

My imagined warrior princess bravado goes poof the instant Klaus Mickelson storms into the room like some sort of just awoken titan; all under-dressed in a tasteful cranberry coloured short sleeved T-shirt and some low-slung jeans that threatens to slip off, with no socks or shoes.

His bare feet are large and perfect, and his steps long and heavy. I'm not normally a feet sort of girl. I can't even tell you what Tyler's feet look like because I avoided them as much as humanly possible, but with Klaus I feel every footfall inside my body like thunder. The dull sound of each step triggers pornographic images to flare and ricochet—Klaus with his top off, Klaus with his pants off. It's totally surreal that no part of him is off-limits to my imagination now, from his head to his toes.

I looked away, suddenly conscious of my thoughts. When he doesn't take the opportunity to say something else, I cut a glance back to him, and his face is pinched, and his eyes are nailed on me—Caroline Forbes—standing self-consciously in his court yard. When a pre-sex Klaus stared relentlessly it was, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But when a post-sex Klaus does it…well, I feel blushy.

I want badly to be forthcoming but my throat tightens and chokes my words. I tick one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear, and decide that my only option is to stare back. Boys do not have a monopoly on the Staring Business, anyway. Obviously a staring contest ensues. He tilts his head, watching me stare at him. He looks like a lazy lion, eyeing me carefully as if deciding whether or not I'm a meal worth chasing. I stare back not unlike a deer caught in headlights.

Finally he puts an end to the worlds most awkward staring competition by asking; "What are you doing here, love?"

I didn't know what sort of reception I was expecting to receive, but an icy one was not it. Okay, I admit that coming here in the first place is not the brightest, specially after we had our verbal restraining order sanctioned exactly a day ago. In other words Klaus Mickelson shall for the foreseeable future stay out of my radar and never go near Mystic Falls again. But I'm not sure if it's constitutional in reverse, though. We didn't think to clarify the small print.

My brain stutters into gear. "Okay, um-" I take a deep panicky breath. Let it out slow and steady. "This was clearly a mistake. I'll leave." Feeling overexposed like some circus act, I paste on a defensive sneer, but it doesn't have the desired effect when I'm half tripping over myself trying to slip out the door.

"Caroline?" I hate the way he says my name, like he cares. Like we're friends when we're anything but. I turn towards his voice like a puppy anyway. He tries on a welcoming smile for size, but now I want to smack him for how jittery it makes me feel.

"What is it?" he asks, tone also deliberately softened.

"Nothing really" I try a smile to reassure him, mainly myself. I'm aiming for Miss Mystic-Falls megawatt smile—the one I once used on barmen when I waned to get served under-aged—but I don't manage much more than a lopsided, self-conscious grin.

"It's just-" I pause to swallow a bit of saliva, and clear my head a bit. "Is your brother home?"

"My brother?" His tone is somewhere between incredibility and hilarity. His expression is comical.

"Yes. Your brother." I'm comfortable enough now to roll my eyes.

"My brother?" he repeats.

"Yes, The only living one." I mouth every word as if he is deaf, and possibly a bit retarded as well. While my answer is clear, and absolutely accurate I don't think it gets to the heart of what Klaus is trying to establish.

"You've driven all this way to see Elijah?" he says it like it's some-sort of joke. "Not me?"

It's not the question that gets me, it's the look that accompanies it. He lashes his eyes on me and with one single glance he strips me naked. I honestly feel my clothes come away at the seams and land in a heap at my feet. The sensation is so real that I look down just to check.

It don't take a genius to figure out what he is trying to imply, and I aim to rebuff him with a brassy one liner, but instead my mouth goes on a whacked overdrive like I'm possessed. "Don't think I'm here for you or anything, cause, you know, we had mind blowing sex..." I pause, shocked. _Did I say the mind blowing sex bit out loud?_

I am so horrified at my word vomit I scramble to recover. "Mind blowing sex or not..." And just as I blurt this out again I get this overwhelming need to blow my brains out, but since I have no access to a gun I persevere; "...It don't mean I'll drive all this way for more. _God_, I'm not some sort of sex deprived mad stalker. Don't you worry about that. You're totally safe. I've never stalked anyone in my life. Well, who even does that?"

With that my brain finally decides to shut my mouth down, for which Klaus is most probably offering up prayers of thanks to all existing gods. After a long pause of quietly staring at my feet in hope that the floor might open wide and swallow me whole, I steel myself to look up at him. A deep dimple appears on his left cheek as a grin spreads down from his eyes to his lips. My pathetic verbal diarrhoea has amused him, at least.

"You've broken our agreement," he warns, and watches my eyes grow to roughly the size of dinner plates before turning his smile up a few notches."I expect you to have mind blowing sex with me by way of recompense."

"Really?" I gasp, part horrified, part slightly delighted. Certainly more delighted than is respectable. I can tell because my palms start to moisten at the idea, and unfortunately, so do other parts of my body.

Klaus lets out a hearty, rolling laugh. "No not really, you silly minx, what sort of place do you think I run here?"

I'm at a lost for words, or more accurately I'm now living in fear that I might word vomit at any given moment. I busy myself by holding my breath till I start to going blue on the face, so he takes pity. "Come on then,"

He holds out his elbow to me in that way gentlemen did for ladies back in the day. I hesitate briefly, but there is a sweetness, kindliness, and a sense of intimacy in his attitude that's disarms me; or maybe it's the lack of oxygen reaching my brain, I don't know. Anyway I reason that his gesture is only a friendly one, however, the instant my hand makes contact with his bare arm a bolt of lightning slices through me, deep frying every single nerve-ending in my body, and when his gaze lights on me it stuns me stupid.

_Say something, anything!_

"My prince."

_Except that._

One minute Klaus is in the middle of a total, entire face involved, eyes crinkling, happy grin. The next he gallops before me and play-acts a prince by executing a flawless curtsy. "Glad to oblige, my queen."

In the name of dramatic theatre, and to a lesser degree playful banter, I feign a pout. "So you're my son?"

"Of course not you ninny!" his voice comes out almost boyish, and I have to chew on my bottom lip to keep from breaking into a fit of giggles.

"I am the King!" He throws his arms up wide. "And This-_This_, princess, is my castle!" Klaus declares that with such exaggerated pride I can't help laughing, and like a kid I clamp hand to mouth to stifle it.

"Heeeeey" I mock moan, just the same way I did every year that Santa delivered me the wrong presents. "Am I denoted to princess now?"

The smile on his face falls away, and not once does he break my stare as all playful atmosphere drops off the air like a led balloon. "If you'll like-" He's using that voice. The one that is sort of private and says he's speaking only to me. The one that's probably the reason I can't breathe—and I don't remember how. "-You can be my Queen."

The bit in my brain that controls motor malfunctions due to a lack of oxygen. My bag slips from fingers to floor, and the contents create a junk and make-up wasteland. A bottle of mineral water, iPhone, and a crisp white envelope are ejected like bullets. A shower of coins also hit marble and roll merrily away.

I maintain composure by keeping my blue eyes trained on the whiteness of the envelope, and other less significant things littering my feet. I'll high-five myself for this bit of unexpected smoothness later, because it killed the moment, and saved me from having to run like hell.

As Klaus starts to bend to help scoop up my things I'm hyper aware that he has open access to the envelope, and so I dive for it in the exact moment that he is about to touch it. My hand ends directly on his; flesh on flesh. I hastily withdraw, and blink rapidly at him, my eyelids matching my heart rate.

With his hand hovering over the envelope Klaus holds my gaze and I start to totally self-combust under it. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought, and it triggers a flashback to us going at it like a pair animals in the woods. Flustered, I lunge about for the bottle of water which I plan to pour over myself.

"This place is like a sauna," I comment pathetically.

"Isn't it," Klaus murmurs, watching me gulp the entire bottle in one swing.

When I run out of water I have nothing better to do other than rapidly blink at him. He smirks, and with a flick of his head he motions over the top left of his shoulder to the general direction of a big window. "and you're absolutely sure that's Michelson you're here for?"

I fallow is gaze to see a suited and clean-shaven man, no taller than 6' 1½, definitely, streamlined, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Even in the distance I can tell that that man is no Salvatore, there is absolutely no element of a boy in him. In fact I can't help but think Katherine Pierce totally outdone herself with this one.

"Yup." I nod and turn my eyes back onto him. The look that meets mine is so obviously one of a wicket conspirator, however I can't figure out why that is, though.

"And your 100% sure?" His undertone is heavy with a hint of challenge, again implying I'm really here for him.

Since I'm fresh out of sassy one-liners I choose to roll my eyes, and hastily return to collecting any stray belongings. I scoop up my phone and the Sunshine Glow Mineral Powder. This item has exploded into beige dust-bombs a few times in my bag. I'm glad to find it's intact and not all over the nice stone floor, cause the last thing I need is for him to have to wipe it up.

I pick up the blush compact next. It's my favourite because it has the mirror and the freshening pink tones my grey-colored cheeks nicely. I shove the items into my bag, feeling slightly comforted by their presence. I'm not as shallow as I used to be, it's just that without these products I look like the walking dead.

I fugitively glance up at my helper who has leisurely gathered almost all of my coins. His hair is still shower damp. It's made up of little inky-golden curls—an amazing amount of them. My hands clenches against the urge to touch it, to see if it feels like the rich silk I remember from our time in the woods.

As if sensing my staring he glances up at me, wearing a genuine smile that makes something dormant warm deep in my belly. I want to smile back at him. It takes every ounce of my strength to tamp that urge away, revert from stare, and swallow back impending dribble.

I regard the floor again and I start to get this weird feeling, almost as if I'm forgetting something important. I look into my bag, relaxing a little when I realize I'm missing my channel gloss, and my purse—which he's got in his hand and is filling with my spilled monies.

Still feeling at a loss though I look about myself and notice lip gloss making a bid for freedom. Just as I make pursuit on my hands and knees I run into a pair of very expensive looking black oxfords draped in tailored slacks. I wait a beat for the man to move out of my way and when he doesn't I arch my neck back to allow my line of sight to rise.

_Wow—holly cow!_

I realize it's kinda_ iffy_ to think of Klaus's brother like you'll think of any hot guy, but _holly cow_ he is absurdly perfect to minute detail in his exceptionally tailored, granite coloured suit, and whiter than white shirt. You know, if you go in for the whole _Godfather_ meets _50 Shades of Grey_, thing.

He sinks into an elegant crouch directly in front of me to pick up my fugitive channel gloss. I'm instantly hit with a wave of very, very expensive smelling aftershave, and with far more masculinity at eye-level than I can handle. All I manage to do is stare.

"Miss Forbes is it?" He asks.

"Yes," I croak, and clear my throat. "Yes." There, that sounds more confident.

"We've never officially met." He extends a long-fingered hand to me, exposing onyx cuff links and an exclusive looking wrist watch."I'm Elijah."

"Um. It's nice to meet you," I mutter, like a star struck fangirl.

Elijah got a bone structure that would make a sculptor weep with joy, and deep pools of liquid chocolate eyes that reminds you of that inhibited predatory hunger you see in the eyes of caged predators. He don't just ooze alpha maleness in his civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive looking suit; he is one hundred per cent the real deal.

"The lovely Elena speaks very highly of you." He compliments, and I've got to smile at that. _I get it now_; I understand why Elena was far too eager to play good little lamb ready for the sacrifice on the request of this handsome stranger, in spite of both Salvatore brother's opinions.

With a shaky inhalation I placed my hand in his and we shake. Just as he lets me take back my hand he locks eyes with his brother whose off behind me somewhere to my left, and for a split second I think I see a ghost of a smile in his lips, but I'm not sure. He turns back to me far too quickly.

"What brings you to New Orleans?" His voice is warm, maybe amused, but it's difficult to tell from his impassiveness. To the casual observer he might seems mildly interested, but above all, polite.

It takes a moment for me to find my voice. "You do." My lips get dry, so I lick them before adding with a scratchy voice "I got a letter that is meant for you."

"I see," If he is surprised he doesn't show it. "Would you like to discuss this letter somewhere more private?"

Without waiting for an answer he stands up with economical grace. Reacting purely on instinct, I shift backward in a clumsy preparation to stand too, but I sprawl flat on my ass. My elbows throbs from the violent contact with the marble floor, but I scarcely register the pain. Like a two-year old I decide my best bet is to pretend I'm invisible for like forever.

_A second down. Two. Three..._

"Are you all right?" Klaus asks too close to my ears for comfort, with a rasp that sends a burning icy shiver up my arm that raises the hairs on my nape. It also movie-reels the extraordinary sex we had right behind my closed eye lids—his weight on me, his warm breath on my shoulder.

"Miss Forbes?" Elijah's voice is what chain pulls me back to earth. I look up at the eldest Original, and my cheeks catch fire—it's all so very humiliating to appear awkward and clumsy in front of the most self-assured and graceful man I've ever met. I'm also hyper aware that Klaus is crouching behind me, _breathing_ on me.

"Fine," I mumble, "Just lost my balance."

My heartbeat spikes, and my stomach flips when a grip tightens on my shoulders. Without warning Klaus pulls me up with him, and takes a second too long to let go, and when he does he doesn't move single inch. A trickle of sweat drips between my shoulders and I feel like squirming with a needy, achy…_discomfort_, and I know the longer he stays _breathing_ on me the closer I am to fainting.

_Honestly, I don't understand this reaction._

It all suddenly too much to take. I never let anyone enter my bubble, but Klaus has not only popped it, he has detonated it. He's touched all of my stuff, has touched me, andis still_ breathing_ on me. I pivot to face him ready to give him a piece of my mind, but end up nose to nose with holds my gaze without so much as a blink for several endless seconds, the way a starving pit bull looks at raw meat. My heartbeat accelerates back to a 100 miles-an-hour and my lips parts to accommodate faster breaths. _This is it_, I'm so going to faint Hollywood style.

_Wouldn't that be epic?_ I mentally back slap myself out of it. _Get a grip Caroline Forbes!_

"May I have my bag, please?" I set my jaw. My voice is a little trembly; I can't help it. He only moves backward a smidgen, and offers it to me without a word. I make big effort to retrieve it without touching him, but when our fingers briefly touch it sloshes my regained common sense clean away for an entire second.

In the nick of time though my inner warrior-princess arrives to the rescue, and has me turning to face Elijah without even a flinch. Elijah's got a glint in his dark eyes—The fact that he's been watching us this entire time hits home and makes me feel instant, hairy shame, but I manage to put my best possible face on it.

"So? What was you saying about somewhere more private?"

* * *

><p>Their house looks otherworldly–unreal, and I feel like I'm on a giant film set. Everything is stone; ceiling, floors, and walls except in the corridor where a mosaic of small paintings hang, fifty-five of them arranged in a long line. I can't help but stop and stare at them. They are exquisite – a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs.<p>

Displayed together, they are breath taking, but my awareness of Klaus next to me prickles across my skin, and it's totally distracting. He is standing not too close, but close enough that I know he has made an effort to be there. As we stand together, I can't help peeking up at him through my lashes, and he looks out of the corner of his eyes down at me. I smile shyly, and his lips twitch.

"A local artist," says Klaus as our eyes latch and holds.

"They're lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary," I murmur, taken in equally by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

"I couldn't agree more, love" he replies, his voice ever so soft, and I hold his gaze for a moment longer than he might have expected. The temperature in the room starts to lowly rise, or maybe it's just me. I turn back to the painting to get his nuclear-active eyes off me, and it works. We stand staring blankly – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his, but acutely aware of each-other.

Meanwhile Elijah says nothing as he stands a couple of feet away, leaning a shoulder on the frame of a door—waiting patiently. I get increasingly more embarrassed and flustered at the realization that he is still witnessing all our weird little exchanges. I pluck up the courage to look at him squarely on, he's watching me, one hand deep in his pocket and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he's trying to suppress a smile.

"Do you mind my brother's presence?" Elijah asks. I flush brighter—_Is he teasing me?_ I hope not. I blink at him, unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity on me because he relents. "I'm a very private person, Miss Forbes. I go a long way to protect my privacy, but I don't mind Nicklaus knowing my business."

"Oh, I do," Automatically I switch to my blatantly rude, bitchy the cheerleader tone. This is the one that always pisses off my mom. To be sure Klaus or Elijah is not missing my insult, I also cross my arms and speak very slowly like I'm speaking to a toddler. "No offence, but this is between us. He has nothing to do with it."

"None taken." Klaus says breezily. Then, he pastes on a very cocky grin that doesn't help my bravado any. "As it happens I got Sunday mass to attend this morning."

My heart slams up in sheer shock and sticks behind my eye sockets. It's beating fast, so that means my eyes must be bugging out with a beat everyone can see. _Did I hear him right?_ _Did Klaus, the devil incarnate himself just say he's going to church?_ I suddenly have this odd sensation that if I look up now I'll see a pig fly overhead.

"Seriously?" I even choke on my saliva a bit.

"Don't look so surprised love." He's clearly enjoying this. "I'll have you know the Mickelson clan is a religious lot."

"Very well then that's settled," Elijah's tone is stern, authoritative and impatient. I raise a perfectly plucked brow at him just to be sassy, and his mouth quirks, and stares challengingly at me. My cheeks go aflame, and I'm beside myself with embarrassment because of it, so I make a point of sticking my nose up in the air. I square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and ready for business.

"Shaw we?" His tone is mid way between a challenge and a lover's request, I'm not sure why. I mean, he can't possibly be flirting with me in front of Klaus—_can he?_ I frown, but he smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I bite my bottom lip as I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

_Boy,_ he's as absurdly good-looking as Klaus, but more in his own polished pedigreed masculine way, where Klaus is, _well_, Klaus. There is absolutely no wonder they are only half brothers. With that in mind I suddenly feel the urge to secretly congratulate their evil witch of a mother for her next to none reproduction skills. She sure set the bar high for male-kind, and we females will forever be thankful, or not—_it depends on your perspective._

Turning with lithe athletic grace he opens the door behind him, steps aside and waits for me to enter. Before I cross the threshold I give Klaus a fugitive look over my shoulder. He inhales sharply, and there is a minute, imperceptible flex in his facial muscles, a twitching raise of an eyebrow, a slight downturn of the mouth—maybe, a jealous gleam in his eyes.

_Ah yes_, I think,_ it was flirting, and clearly he didn't miss it._

I can't help myself; I wink at him just so he gets the full effect of my brush-off. I think he actually starts growling at me, but I can't be sure cause Elijah closes the door on his face.


	3. 0-3

_**Timeline:** still picture these events unfolding on the day that could be between the episode 11 and 12 on Vampire Diaries. And on episode 13 on the Originals._

* * *

><p>I follow Elijah at an ultra-slow pace into his study, a spacious room with French-style floor-to-ceiling window that opens out on to a balcony. The first thing I notice is the smell; leather, wood, polish with a faint citrus scent. It's very cosy, and the lighting is soft, subtle. I stand shifting from on feet to the other in the middle of the room, looking around. I'm itching with discomfort; this is seriously rich, seriously over the top Bill Gates style wealthy.<p>

_What am I even doing here?_

_You know very well what you're doing here_, my subconscious sneers at me. _You've driven all night. No way of backing out now_.

On one side of a huge elaborately carved desk is a brocade upholstered armchair for him, on my side a three seater cushioned sofa. He shrugs out of his suit jacket, and carefully places it on the back of his armchair. I notice how he is even yummier in just the simply white shirt and tie. He gestures toward the seat behind me.

"Have a seat."

"Thanks." The soft tan leather creaks as I dump my ass on it.

The second thing I notice is how the air in the study quickly turns stifling. It's one of those hot, humid days great for swimming in the river but hell for anything else. I'm praying my deodorant is a shining example of Truth in Advertising, and also because I'm wearing shorts my legs keep sticking to the leather. Every time I move I'm rewarded with a sort of sticky sound, like peeling tape from a cardboard box, which is just plain gross.

I'm avoiding direct eye contact with him by hiding under a loose lock of blonde hair. While he sits behind a big desk erect and calm—his posture speaking of easy confidence. Military bearing maybe, and I note with a frown that despite having been all wrapped up in a suit he seems to be sweating a lot less than I am.

He casually crosses his legs in a very distinguished manner, silently watching me—I fill my lungs, lower my lashes, and fiddle with the zipper on my bag, hoping he hasn't deciphered that this is absolutely unfamiliar territory for me. I try scouring my brain for a conversation starter.

"Great weather, huh?" The sound of my own voice breaks the awkwardness. A slight smile lifts his lips, as if he is seriously pondering my lame attempt at small talk.

"Let me let in some air." Before I can even process his words his footsteps are echoing on the flagstones.

The moment he pushes the double doors to the balcony apart I'm hit by a blast of cool air so refreshing that I even half close my eyes, savouring the feeling. I barely register him returning to the desk, picking up the telephone and saying what sounds like an order of some sort in French.

When I return to earth and refocus on him, his eyebrows inch up. "You're very quiet, and you're not even blushing. In fact, I think this is the palest I've seen you so far, Miss Forbes," he murmurs. "Are you comfortable?"

I start to nod eagerly and tug on the hem of the cute, white and blue striped denim shorts I'd purchased a few weeks ago from Topshop, but end up staring at the extreme amount of blindingly pale leg I'm offering up. I'm not sure what I hate myself for more; the fact that my first instinct is to wonder if Elijah thinks its too revealing, or that I've gone beetroot red on the face again like the blushing bafoon he thinks I am.

"Would something to drink help?" he asks, sitting back down behind his desk. For one second, I think about asking for alcohol because I'm in desperate need of a little dutch-courage, but I don't have the nerve.

"I'm okay." I take a deep breath, and start a to offer him a smile but I get interrupted by someone entering the room.

A maid with plump cheeks and plumper breasts appears balancing a silver tray. She's mixed race, a little bit Asian for sure, and very pretty. She's got her hair up in a perfect low bun which gives her a bit of a ballerina look, in fact she looks like she'd spent the whole year getting twisted and prodded by her Pilate's instructor and eating nothing but gum.

As soon as she reaches his desk we get hit with a wave of juicy couture and vanilla lotion that's so incredibly good for about twenty seconds, after which point it starts to make me sick. She skilfully places the tray down, then she hooks her hands together behind her and smiles up at him with stars in her eyes. I note with interest the vampire puncture marks on her wrist, and neck. but more interestingly on the cleavage of her left breast.

"Just in time." he says, already reaching for the decanter of cooled orange juice, and pours it into one of two companioning crystal flutes. "Thank you, Anita" He smiles at the maid. I notice that she nearly keels over on the spot, but Elijah doesn't seem to.

"Anything else you want, sir?" Anita asks, her gaze snagged on the Original. The key words in that sentence being '_You_' and '_Want_' but unfortunately for her there is a silence, during which Elijah actually doesn't even compute her lingering presence. Only when I clear my throat his attention darts to me, and then by default to her toothy smile.

He scratches his jaw in an uncomfortable, almost shy way and answers; "No. That is all."

Anita still hesitates, gaping at him. Definitely not the sharpest knife in the draw, but she seems nice enough, and likely to taste just as nice. He raises his eyebrows to question why she's still standing there. She flushes bright red. "Very well Mr. Mickelson," she stutters, then makes a hasty exit. He frowns, and turns his attention back to what he was doing.

"Freshly squeezed from a local plantation" He is expertly pouring the juice. Ice clinks against the glasses, and a drop of condensation slides from the rim to pool on polished silver. "Would you like to join me?" He sounds so encouraging and charming that it'll be hard for anyone to resist anything he offers, let alone lil-o-me.

"Yeees, please," I'm trying not to dribble. His eyes smile at me as he holds out the glass.

Even the glasses are rich, heavy, contemporary crystal. I check my hand as I take it from him, and thankfully, they've got no signs of visible trembling. I glance, as I sip the deliciously cool and very sweet juice, over the rim of my cup at his smooth-skinned, symmetrical face. Yup, I think. He is good-looking, and his eyes are kind.

I'm about to launch another one of my conversation starters, but before I can zing one he speaks up. "Nicklaus seems to be very taken by you."

His face alight with curiosity. I suck my stomach in, barely daring to breathe. Crap, Where's he going with this? He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. "After everything that's been going on lately I have to admit I didn't see it coming."

I think of several very good comebacks that can put him neatly in his place, but since his place is actually a thousand years above mine on the food chain, I just play stupid; "See what coming?" I ask, thinking; _Oh crap_. But I do take stock of myself, and use blank face.

It's a good tatic, the blank face, and the best one I can come up with in such short notice. At least even if I feel terrified, I don't actually look it. He really stares at me, squinting slightly like he is figuring something out. Then he slowly smiles with his lips together, and its the sort that closes off his face. The kind that says; I'm not a fool.

"You and my brother." he says in some kind of crusty, not quite British, probably just too many years on Park Avenue accent.

_Double Crap!_

A wave of panic hits me like a shovel to the head. I feel my mouth open and close a few times, all by itself, and just in time I remember that I need to breathe. I'm clearly being put on a spot here, but just as clearly I have to say something.

"Well, I-I, um, ah," I say, quite distinctly. "Um, er, there is no such thing as me and your brother!"

"I'm no fool, Miss Forbes." He stares at me, coolly questioning. "Nor am I blind."

I take a big deep deep breath and make a special effort not to go on the defensive, but since I am who I am I simply can't help myself. "I don't know what you think you're seeing but there is nothing going on between us. And by nothing I mean exactly that, nada. zilch. zero!" I wait a beat to let that sink in some, then I quickly add; "Sleeping with your lunatic of a brother was a colossal mistake, and I want nothing more to do with him."

I take another big deep deep breath, and let out a sharp, loud exhale before I slam back into the sofa for good measure. I don't expect him to respond with high-fives, and he sure doesn't, but the way his eyes are suddenly flat, unreadable, as they stare back into mine like I'm a bug wriggling on a pin sort of terrifies me. After several seconds of watching me wriggling on said pin he suddenly inhales sharply, and I nearly pee myself, mortified at my dumb boldness, now wondering if this is a terminally stupid move.

_Why didn't I employ some kind of filter between brain and mouth before I entered this room with this man?_

* * *

><p>He is looming by the balcony doors like an ice statue. He doesn't move at all for a long while, and seems to be watching something in the far-off distance. By either side of the doors are identical tall mahogany tables with fresh flowers in a vase. Not just any old flowers, either. Huge exotic things that I don't know the name of, artfully arranged in minimalist clumps. Their bright colours and delicacy is in stark contrast with him and his sharp edges. So much so that the sight of his silhouette bathed in sun light gives him a very overwhelming presence—even more physically imposing than Klaus, and when I see him briefly close his eyes, and let out a dramatic sigh I get a little more anxious.<p>

"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude." I squeak, not at all sure why I'm apologizing for, but very certain from the tension in the air that I should. Elijah doesn't seem to hear me for a minute. He's closed off, locked behind something I can't penetrate. After a moment he turns, glancing around the room, as if he has been somewhere far from here, as if he forgot I'm still present.

"No, sweetheart, Don't be sorry. Don't be sorry at all." he says, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the frame of the door. He's clearly confident in his own attraction, an Alpha male to his bones. "It seems Nicklaus has been in the habit of having one night stands. I honestly don't know why I'm surprised."

"Not surprise there then," I'm half joking, trying to make light of the conversation, trying desperately to hide the fact that that revelation is stinging like a bitch. He shrugs, as if these things can't be helped.

"Miss Forbes." he says, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow as if he is not quite sure whether to call me that or something more informal, like Caroline. "Tell me about this letter."

"It's from Katherine." I blurt out, happy not to think about Klaus and his _can't be helped _habits. Anyway for a split second there I swear Elijah looks as if I just shot him on the forehead with a shotgun.

"Katerina," He corrects, keeping his voice low, as his eyes drop briefly. I watch his face working to rearrange itself back to his usual mask of terrifying grumpy authority, but it takes several moments, and in the interval he looks shockingly vulnerable.

"I found it in her bag. I think she wrote it before she died." I add, very carefully now, watching for a reaction for several long seconds, but there is really not much to see any-more. I've not known this guy for very long, but even so, I know something is not quite right, and It feels unsettling to the extreme. I just can't leave it on that note so I try a very lame and pathetic; "I'm sorry for your lost."

I now catch on his face an expression of misery and shame so acute that I'm shocked to the heart. He turns away instantly and examines the yard outside with studious interest, as if he's never seen it before. I see his neck muscles tense, but he doesn't speak, and so I open my mouth to stammer something or other but before I can utter a single meaningless syllable Elijah speaks up.

"Katerina was-" he pauses, and I can tell he is debating whether to say more. There is something more, something else bothering him, but he just draws a long breath. "She a different person to the woman you knew," he finishes with the faintest tremor in his voice.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, meaning it.

"So am I," he agrees, his voice brokers no evasions. He looks at me sideways, out of the corner of his eye, and adds; "You would have liked her." but now there is a very slight, barely detectable, warmer undertone to his voice.

His face, however, appears ghoulish with misery. When I ask him what she was like his entire body visibly sighs. I say nothing, but my expression tells him I'm waiting for an answer. He appears to think about this for a minute, almost as though he is debating which version to tell me, or if to tell me at all. A muscle clenches and unclenches in his strong Harrison jaw.

"She was-" He chokes on the words, then clears his throat."Katerina was-" He tries again, still struggling with what to say next. I feel a jolt of anticipation at his words and the way his gaze roams over my face as he thinks. I even lean forward as well, and when he exhales, I realize he's been holding his breath.

"Earthy," he offers, his dark gaze holding mine.

I want to look away but I'm caught – spellbound by this six-foot-one specimen of pure alpha in front of me. In his eyes I recognize dejection, and it might just be me, but his posture seems physically weighed down. By what I can't say for sure, but I'm guessing love is plays an important part in that weight. I don't understand it. Elijah is a man who is, at heart, a genuinely good person, totally pedigreed and clearly very cleaver. How can he have gone for Katherine? She had the morals and sensibilities of an ally cat.

"For some reason, I can't see you with someone like Katherine." This comes out sounding like some sort of criticism, but I want it to be more of a compliment.

Thankfully he isn't offended by my compliment, and takes it up for conversation. "To be fair, in the end, neither could I. Not in the long run, anyway. But for a while, it was surprisingly easy to overlook our obvious differences. And we did. We made this time for us, and we were overwhelmingly happy. An interlude, she called it – she was giving me this interlude, giving it to us, and it was clear from the way she said it that she knew it would end. "

"I''ll bet she knew." I nod, knowing that Katherine was always a step ahead. Of course she knew her romance with the Hybrid's brother had a sell by date.

As our eyes holds his expression changes subtly from unreadable to the barest of smiles, though guarded. He doesn't look away, even when I glance into my empty glass and then back at him. "Thank you for listening." he offers finally.

"No problem." I half whisper. His attitude towards me feels unnaturally personal, but I don't mind it. I respect him. I like him. He intrigues me, and maybe I am capable of making friends outside of Mystic Falls, outside my comfort zone.

"I have to apologise." He adds.

I stretch to put my glass down on the desk before answering with what he knows is an obvious attempt to seem casual."For what?"

"For what I said before, about my brother."

The mention of Klaus makes my heart flip in my chest, but I force myself to appear totally unaffected. At first I can't think of anything to answer. "Your family." I try, sounding as if I've emptied a helium balloon. "It's a fair enough that you to what to know what gets up to. I get it. It's fine." I pause, unsure of that's right sort of answer.

"No, it isn't," he sighs in his long-suffering big brother manner. "It was wrong to make assumptions. It's personal. So please accept my apology."

"It's fine," I say, simply because I have nothing better to say.

"But would you at least humour me?" He reaches up and tugs at his tie, clears his throat. I can tell he is beside himself with discomfort. Hesitantly I nod. The question dressed as a statement comes out very softly spoken; "It is fairly obvious my brother cares for you. One simply can't help but wonder if the feeling is a mutual one."

I look down at my hands as I fidget with the hem of my shorts. I practice inhalation and exhalation, over and over, just enough times to seem as if I'm thinking about my answer, and not having a mini-asthma attack. I look back up at him. Elijah's penetrating, brown eyes, like black ice shimmering with interest, focusses on mine; he jolts his head as if to say—_well?_

"I don't know."

"There is no shame in it." He reassures kindly. Something about his face reminds me of my father. But Daddy is best not remembered, or I'll end up in tears.

"Yes—no, I don't know. Sort of." I blink, annoyed by my epic choice of one syllable words, and almost as soon as I realize what I've just admitted to, I wish I hadn't. Instantly I drop my eyes to the ground in a childish attempt to save face. But I have to look up eventually, and now is as good a time as any so I do .

Elijah stalks towards me so quickly that I don't have time to read into his expression. He squats low before me and swiftly and elegantly he takes hold of my free my hand, pulls it to his mouth, and tenderly plants a kiss the back of it. "You are one brave young woman,"

It's such an old fashioned, sweet gesture I would probably feel the urge to swoon; _well_, that is if I wasn't so busy perverting over the way his shirt is stretched over his biceps— at the way his black suit pants has gotten all taut over his general thigh area. Then with the instantaneous realisation that I'm in fact staring at his crotch I dart my eyes up to see absolutely no tale-tale sign on his face to indicate he noticed said shamefaced act. No knowing where to stick my head I decide to keep holding my breath until I count all the little flexes in his face in each of his irises. Slowly, I risk one slow breath through my nose. And then another.

"I'm in awe of you." He sounds proud enough to burst, and then he smiles a full blown smile at me.

I'm overcome with warm thoughts of the way he is smiling at me and of how much I like this very real smile—so different than the ones I've experienced from the other originals. Rebekah often faked hers, and Klaus used his to annoy the living day lights out of me. Elijah's though is something else; its just so warm, and so nice, and so crazy sexy that can't imagine a girl ever resisting. I for one can't possibly, and so in return I blind him with my Miss Mystic Falls smile.

Elijah and I stare at each other in a slow moment of realising we could definitely be friends. And as awkward as his proximity is, I'm intrigued with the possibilities of what this could bring. He kisses my hand again and places it back in my lap, but instead of taking his hand away he blankets it over mine. This leaves me staring at his strong-looking hand, and of course his hands are also amazingly, perfectly, and annoyingly well made. Like the rest of him.

"I'll like to get to know you better." He sounds like he means it too.

"Same," I say looking up. Something tugs in my throat, some stupid little kid thing; my happiness at pleasing him, at being good enough, and interesting enough for him.

Elijah moves away, goes back to striking a pose under the sun, fingers dragging upward on the side of his head. He really is beautiful. I know men aren't supposed to be, but he is. He is frowning out his balcony window, thinking maybe. I'm not as edgy; now its just me sitting in a room with a particularly beautiful man who wants to get to know me better, enjoying a now comfortable silence.

I decide not to interrupt it, but he does to ask; "Miss Forbes, tell me, why be so charitable to the woman who was responsible for your death?"

The sudden change of conversation throws me so I haven't got a practised answer to hand. I stare at Elijah who has turned around, his face surprises me even more than his line of questioning; It's alight with curiosity. "She helped me a little, you know, we had a frenemy thing going for a second there." His eyes does not leave my face, and he is listening to every word I'm saying closely. "To be honest she wasn't all that bad." I add quietly.

It's stupid really, and Elena would hand me my ass if she ever found out I felt this way about her nemesis, but I keep thinking someone owes it to her—to peasant Bulgarian girl, I mean—so Elijah is right, my reasons for coming are predominately charitable. Firstly because she is dead, I'm not and no one else has the heart to do it. Secondly, like Elena she never asked to be the doppelgänger whose blood everyone wants spilled over silly rocks and stuff. Thirdly being suffocated with a pillow was truly a blessing is disguise, and so in some twisted way I want to thank her for it. Now, I could list plenty other lame excuses, but in the end of the day you could simply say I liked her more than i let on.

I look down and away from him, trying to find the right words. "Maybe, if things where different we could have been friends."

"If things where different." Elijah echoes. I look up to see a wistful smile flickering across his face, then it slowly fades away as he stares of into the distance. "Maybe she could have been happy. Married, been a mother...grown old." His voice soft, with a storytelling quality to it. Maybe he is seeing the sunlit land of Bulgaria, her ancestral home – the lemon groves, the hot sun beating down on dusty roads and lush country-land. And his Katerina, dark-haired and lovely, laughing, kissing her husband, playing with her children.

"She nailed two out to three at least." I smile, happy to point out the bright side on everything and anything. He's not at all impressed because he frowns at me, and frowns at me real hard. It' feels as if he's waiting for me to do something, what I honestly can't guess —_ a circus act maybe_. Anyway, I start feel a panic attack coming on when he swaps frown for an_ end-of-tether_ type of sigh, seemly exasperated with my inability to perform circus acts on cue.

"Miss Forbes. I'm afraid you've lost me." I exhale with sheer relief. I thought that he got angry at me for being an insensitive idiot, when he is only confused. But I guess that's a easy mistake to make with a man who is as expressive as a plank of wood.

"You know." I let out a long, attention-getting huff and fold my arms to re-muster at least a scrap of confidence while swallowing the lump of fear lodged in the back of my throat. "She did die of old age. And got reunited with her daughter. That's two out of three." Elijah sucks in a breath as though my explanation has startled him, but I don't take any notice because I'm far too busy talking; "but if you count the proposal then it's two and a half out of three." And with that said I swear he's gone completely pale now.

"H-Her daughter?" The original stutters. He looks so prickly and uncomfortable, that I can't help but gape at him with my jaw practically docked on the floor. I didn't think Elijah Mikaelson was ever capable of something so uncool as stuttering. It suddenly makes him seem so very human.

"Nadia" I offer.

"Nadia" He sounds it like he's tasting the name, and I notice with interest how his slight injection of an accent carries without effort. I can't, however, translate the look on his face to save my life. I'm worried his curiosity is peaked, and he's going to ask a ton more questions. And of course — he does exactly that.

"Now that Katerina is-" He pauses to swallow something lodged in his throat, or maybe it's his way of articulating the word dead without having to say it out-loud. "-what's become of her daughter?"

Without thought I go for a shrug—the dismissive, couldn't-care-less one. The very one that used to make mum want to shoot me. "How should I know?"

"Have you met her?"

"She's a bitch." I say, opting for blunt honestly. "but hey, you know what they say; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

But honesty is a mistake, there's a instant shift in the atmosphere around him, a dark one. I feel the force of his stare almost as if it has physical form, as if it's a an arrow or a spear. If I didn't know different I'd think I've just dissed his daughter. At any rate it has triggered another mini-panic attack. His back is ram-rod straight but his expression slowly shifts from ticked off to ever so slightly merciful. He looks as though he can't decide whether he's my new best friend, or if he rather decapitate me.

I think he decides to spare me, and like a startled rabbit I watch him return to his seat behind the desk, his movements large and perfectly balanced, like that of a predator, but when in a room like this, he seems more like a wild tiger held in a cage too small for it. He still stares at me squarely on, looking like he's about to ask the most important question of all. I seriously don't think I can handle answering another one without getting myself killed.

"and what of this marriage proposal you speak of?" .

"Oh, that-" I croak, working to keep my breathing in check as I try to curb the larger panic attack hanging over me. His eyes go sharp and assessing, and they bore into my forehead like a drill. I play it off by staring at the air just above his head, and avoid eye contact at all costs as I explain; "Elijah, the thing is, Katherine told me that in confidence. I really really should not have mentioned it."

"Caroline Forbes?" He sounds half like my dad; mainly because he is the only other person to ever use both my names like that. Daddy saved it for especial occasions like Elena's birthday where I pulled her hair for getting the Malibu Barbie I was dreaming of. The booming sound of those two words used to frighten my little soul right out of me—_Heck_, I'm scared to death right now.

"It's private, Elijah." I say, forming each word carefully so as not to aggravate him, but he is having none of it.

"Either you tell me at your own free will, or I compel it out of you." I stare at him unblinking at what he just said. It's all I can do not to scream;_ You can't be serious!_ If only I could—but my voice seems to no longer exist. And to add salt to injury he closes his threat with a clam, and collected; "It's your choice."

"That's not much of a choice." Even though I realize that arguing with him is borderline dangerous at this point, I just can't stop myself. I even go as far as to to fold my arms over my chest whilst the guy keeps on frowning at me like a black cloud. I only get a split second of terrible awareness of what is coming before he descends on me. His hand closes around my chin, holding my head still, and locks his gaze on mine with a steel-laden resolve.

"let me go...Or else," I try, although I know he won't do that. He looks at me for several minutes, silent. The chill in the air has nothing to do with the air conditioning. His cold stare tells me in no uncertain terms that I've no way out.

"Or else?" he mimics, and I can't help but detect a mocking note to it.

"I'll tell Klaus." I blurt without much thought. Anyone else be rolling on the floor with the hilarity at my ever revolutionary threat, but Elijah ever the gentleman, saves me the embarrassment. There is only a bemused glint sparkling in the depths of his dark eyes.

"But I," I release a self-loathing sigh; this is a fruitless argument – I've obviously already lost, "-I promised her."

"Caroline," he starts to compel me in a mechanical monotone – it scrapes across my spine unpleasantly, like a dull nail. My eyes are pinned by his, and I probably can't look away even if I try. "Tell me who proposed to Katerina."


End file.
